Like the Sun on Orion
by OtakuLibra
Summary: In which everyone should be able to be comfortable with something about themselves, and Gaila proves it. Sort of Uhura/Gaila, if you want to read it that way. Also, crack.
1. Chapter 1

**Yeah, I don't know either. I seem to have an issue with to-do lists that get too long-I ignore them, pretend they'll write themselves, and then I write random crackiness. I think I'm going to write one more chapter of this, and then, I swear, it's back to the stuff I've been supposed to write for the past couple weeks (this is probably a lie). **

**Either way, enjoy. **

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Every weekend Gaila gets her nails done, and Uhura is at a loss. It isn't that they don't look good—they always do, Gaila has amazing hands. But by the time Friday rolls around they're torn to pieces. Gaila's an _engineer_. It kind of comes with the territory, the way her hands are. But she doesn't seem to care, just goes back the next week.

When asked, Gaila will say she likes how it makes her feel, how the pretty Betazoid woman who always does her nails smiles at her and talks like she cares. Gaila's got soft hands, for someone who works with engines.

Uhura, though, keeps her nails short, painted plain, solid colors, if she bothers to paint them at all.

Gaila can't help thinking that's a little sad. Everyone should be able to feel like that, like they can relax, be comfortable with themselves.

Uhura has had an awful day. Like, ten hours in the long-range sensor lab, all night spent finishing a paper kind of awful. Finally crashing after twelve cups of coffee kind of awful. So, by the time she gets back to the dorm, she's pretty much dead on her feet.

Gaila is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against her bed and feet against Uhura's, scrolling down a page on her datapad. She looks up when she hears the door swoosh closed behind a dead-looking Uhura. Gaila grins up at her sympathetically.

"Long day?" she asks, putting her pad aside.

"What gave me away?" Uhura says, collapsing in a heap next to Gaila, resting her head on the Orion's lap.

Gaila snorts, running thin, impossibly soft hands through Uhura's hair, working it out of its ponytail. "Honey, you need a manicure. Bad."

Uhura laughs, eyes flicking up to Gaila's, unwilling to move. "What?"

"You heard me. Manicure. You. Now. It helps, promise."

Uhura raises an eyebrow skeptically, but she doesn't say no. Gaila reaches into her end table drawer, sifting through it while trying not to dislodge Uhura's head from its position on her legs. It feels… Nice.

The bottle of nail polish Gaila settles on is orange. Not neon, not garish, it's burnished, like the Orion sun, which emits a light less yellow than Earth's. She displays it for Uhura's approval, who gives it by twisting, sitting up, and offering Gaila her smooth, xenolinguistics-major hands.

Gaila paints slowly, careful not to touch Uhura's wet nails, not to let any polish spill over onto her skin. Uhura's hands are impossibly soft, like satin under Gaila's fingers.

When she's done, she paints a clear glaze over each one, preserving the color, beautiful against Uhura's warm chocolate skin. She massages the tension out of Uhura's hands, slowly, gently, until Uhura has her back _melted _into Gaila's chest. Her hair smells like jasmine and vanilla, delicate against Gaila's cheek.

"Thank you," Uhura murmurs. She feels more relaxed than she has all semester. No wonder Gaila's a top engineer (and she is smart; she's a sim technician, and barely into her post-grad work). Her hands are magic.

"My pleasure," Gaila says lightly, pressing a soft kiss to Uhura's hair.


	2. Chapter 2

"I need a martini."

Uhura looks up from her datapad—a tricky Romulan to Deltan translation, she'll have to look at it with Kirk, later.

"I swear your hair was red this morning."

Gaila gives her a withering look. "Very funny, Ny."

Uhura's face twists into something resembling a grin, but she tries to wrangle it into a neutral expression. There's just something about seeing her roommate this annoyed… As passionate as Gaila tends to be, frustration isn't within her normal spectrum of emotion. It's sort of… Fascinating. In a morbid kind of way.

She raises both hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh. It's just… You've got a little something…"

Gaila's look morphs into a full-blown glare. "Thanks, Ny. Ever so."

"Glad to be of help," she quips, lying back on her bed to look over her translation again. Only to be hit on the back of the head with the top of Gaila's uniform. Gaila grins at her, leaning against the doorframe leading to their bathroom. She looks ridiculous, standing there in her black bra, which matches the black… whatever that stuff is in her hair (hey, she's a linguistics focus, what does she know about engineering?). And also… It's sort of stunning.

"You…" Uhura trails off as Gaila unzips her skirt and slides it off her hips. "You, uh… You look good in black."

Gaila freezes, and Uhura's terrified that she's said something wrong. Her throat seizes up. Gaila just looks at her for a minute, skirt pooling at her bare feet.

Her voice, when she finally speaks, is soft. "I… Women on my planet are born with black hair. My mother and I… We dyed it when we arrived on Earth. To… Symbolize freedom."

And then she turns and walks into the fresher. Uhura rolls on to her back, staring at the ceiling as she listens for the sound of the shower coming on. She closes her eyes. _Dammit_.

"You know what, I shouldn't have even said anything. I'm sorry. You didn't say anything offensive. You didn't know, okay? Don't get all upset."

Uhura must have… Fallen asleep or something. She hadn't even heard Gaila get out of the shower, but when she opens her eyes Gaila is sitting on the edge of Uhura's bed, hair free of black goo and wrapped in some sort of mostly-sheer sarong.

"Manicure," Uhura decides. Gaila raises her eyebrows, wide eyes questioning. "Yeah, manicure. You said it helps."

"It's only Wednesday."

"So? Invalid argument. Come here."

She does, and Uhura maneuvers Gaila until her head is resting just over Uhura's heart.

The silvery blue nail polish stands out beautifully against Gaila's green skin. Uhura is aware, vaguely, that she is whispering in Gaila's ear, but she isn't sure what she's saying. Not that it matters, with Gaila humming happily as she admires Uhura's handiwork.

"Not bad, for a xenolinguistics major," she teases as Uhura adds the clear overcoat.

It takes less than three days for Gaila's nails to be chipped and broken all to hell. It isn't like she didn't expect it, it's just that she… It's just that Uhura painted them, and the Betazoid woman she goes to every week is nice but she just isn't Uhura. This was special, in a strange kind of way. In a way that makes the little things magic.

So, when she gets back from class, she sits on her bed and cries.

Gaila isn't given to tears, normally. Strong emotions, yes. But not tears. Not since she was a girl. Slavery beat all her tears out of her. But now… Now she cries, _because_ it's ridiculous, _because_ when Ny gets back from the library she chokes off the question she's about to ask and just wraps her arms around Gaila.

It doesn't make any sense, but it feels… Good. As if she can let go.

"Please tell me this wasn't actually about the nail polish, Gaila," Ny says, pulling away but keeping her hands on Gaila's shoulders.

And Gaila laughs, stretching the drying paths of tears on her cheeks. "It wasn't."

Uhura sighs, relieved. "Good. I'm not sure I'm equipped to deal with that."

"Me neither," Gaila agrees. "Martini?"


End file.
